


Outcasts

by secretagentfan



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: Three losers and Martel have a moment of temporary peace while seeking an end to the Kharlan War.Written for prettysailormimi@tumblr.com for tales of covert cupid 2019 yayyy





	Outcasts

     Finally. Silence.

     Yuan knew he should be suspicious of quiet. There never really was any form of quiet during a war that was actually safe—but after hours of hearing weapon against weapon, chanted spells, and the tell-tale crackling of some new magi-technology abomination— the temporary silence indicative of a cease-fire might as well have been a warm bath.

     He leaned on his weapon, digging one of his blades into the bloodstained grass at his feet, and let gravity take him to his knees.

      “Yuan!”

     The call came from far enough away it took Yuan a couple seconds to recognize who it came from. A boy stepped carefully over a pile several fallen soldiers. Yuan was certain he heard him say _ew_ a couple times under his breath. He had a scrape on his cheek, and his clothes were torn, but he looked fine. Exhausted, but with light in his eyes, and a round, friendly, face: Mithos.

      “What is it?”

      “Martel she’s—”

     _Martel._ Yuan’s entire body went cold. He pulled his weapon out of the ground and cleared the soldiers Mithos was still trying to navigate in a liquid leap, ponytail snapping out behind him. “What!? What happened?”

     Mithos blinked at him, still mid-step, arms out. He looked like a confused bird trying to fly.

      “Nothing. Nothing new, anyway. She’s just been looking for you—Kratos is with her right now. Are you okay? That leap was a lot.”

      “I’m fine.”

     The boy raised his eyebrows, not quite believing it, but nodded anyway. Then hesitated. “This is a lot of bodies. Are these all from you?”

     The boy didn’t look afraid like he should. Only impressed, and a little sad. Was this really the same kid that shook helplessly as he made his first pact with a summon spirit?

      “It’s a war, Mithos,” Yuan replied.

      “I know. That’s what Kratos said too. Doesn’t mean we have to like it. I know I don’t.”

     Yuan exhaled. Nodded. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

     His hand brushed across the top of Mithos’s head for a brief moment. Parts of his glove had torn off, and he could feel his soft blonde hair, the warmth coming from Mithos’s body. Proof he was alive.

      “You’re weird today, Yuan,” Mithos accused.

     Yuan felt his face heat involuntarily. He’d seen _Kratos_ do this plenty, and Kratos was a brick. Why was it only weird when _Yuan_ expressed some modicum of affection? Whatever. He sniffed the air, pretending the last several seconds hadn’t happened.

      “Can you take me to your sister, already?”

* * *

     Kratos had set up their camp in a large wooded area. Yuan could hear the sounds of a river flowing nearby—it would do. Kratos had good instincts when it came to this sort of thing, and not much else.

      “It seems you’re still alive.” The human’s infuriatingly unimpressed voice practically echoed as Mithos tugged Yuan onto the campsite.

     Kratos would cut an imposing figure, traveling clothes recently mended, sword at his side-- if it weren’t for the large green and white bird staring at him adoringly from his shoulder.

      “And you’re still lugging around a pet in the middle of a war,” Yuan replied, chin tilted up. He was exhausted, but like hell he’d let Kratos look like the better off of the two of them.

      “Heh. He has a name, you know.”

      “Pardon me,” Yuan replied, in a way that was absolutely clear he was not asking for pardon at all. He nodded half-heartedly at the bird still oogling Kratos. “ _Noishe_.”

      “Hm.”

     Accepting, Kratos pressed a tin into his hand, containing some sort of broth-based soup. Yuan downed it greedily only to feel a hand on his arm. He winced. Of course Kratos was able to spot a graze wound from a mile away. Of course.

      “You’re wounded.”

      “I’m fine,” Yuan said, as Kratos let out another enigmatic sound, but nonetheless released his arm. “Where’s Martel?”

      “Listen.”

     Yuan complied. At first he only heard the crackle of Mithos half-heartedly tending to the fire and the soft brush of the wind through the trees—but then he noticed a different sound: the gentle, melodic whisper of Martel’s panpipes.

      “She’s playing now? At a time like this?”

      “Is there a better time?” Mithos grumbled. He stood now and prodded the fire with a large stick like an amateur knight learning to use a sword. Just what was Kratos teaching him?  “The war is happening whether or not we play music. We might as well play anyway.”

     Kratos made a small sound, that if Yuan didn’t know better would label a laugh.

      “What is it?” Yuan asked.

      “Simply that Mithos just had a very similar conversation with Martel herself. How much he grown in a few minutes…”

      “Kratos!” Mithos sputtered, clearly on the defensive. Yuan smiled slightly and followed the sound of the panpipes.

* * *

      Martel’s shoes were off, her long robe hiked to her thighs, and her bare feet dangling in the river. Martel was the only person Yuan had ever known who gained any sort of comfort from frigid waters. Evidently, before she had met Kratos, she and Mithos would frequently use rivers as a method of escape, using fire magic to heat up afterward and ward off any of the negative effects of hypothermia.

      “You’re far from camp, Martel.”

      “Not too far,” Martel corrected, lowering her panpipes. “You were able to find me.”

      “The panpipes help.” Yuan found himself smiling, in spite of everything. “I heard you were searching for me?”

     Martel nodded, and Yuan lowered himself onto a boulder near the river’s edge, a few feet from her. A respectful distance, he figured.

      “You were late to camp, Yuan. Scouting ahead shouldn’t have taken that long. I feared you had gotten caught in the crossfire.” 

     Yuan stared at the river, then at Martel’s long hair pulled to the side of her neck-- the curls in it indicative of an earlier attempt at a braid. She looked relaxed. Beautiful. Yuan hated to ruin this, with further bad news. It seemed that was all he ever brought.

      “I was attacked. I fought them off until they broke off for the night, but we’ll have to seek another route to find the next Spirit.”

     Martel stood, skirts falling around her, stained by the mud. She hardly seemed to notice, her hand already on her staff. “Which side?”

      “Does it matter?” Yuan commented, voice dry. “I don’t fight for either anymore.”

      “One side has your former comrades. I don’t expect you not to feel anything when you fight them.”

      “But I don’t,” Yuan emphasized. “I don’t feel anything.”

      “Then that is very sad, Yuan.”

     Something twisted in Yuan’s gut at the unmasked disappointment in Martel’s face. He stood.

      “We weren’t friends. I didn’t believe in the war. I didn’t believe in what we were fighting for _–_ ” _I didn’t believe in anything_ “–unlike now. That is why. I thought you’d be…”

     Martel shook her head. “They were people. As are you, Yuan.”

     Her staff brushed his shoulder, and shined with a warm, familiar light. The wounds on Yuan’s body sealed and faded. Martel stood in front of him, effortlessly calm and confident. Yuan wanted to kiss her more than he’s ever wanted to do anything before in his life, but he couldn’t even look at her in the eyes.

     Warm fingers brushed his cheek. He inhaled.

      “I believe everyone deserves a chance to be better than they were.”

     Yuan nodded, and then the same fingers were on his chin, gently pulling his gaze down, until he met green eyes. Martel’s smile was nothing short of healing.

      “If I didn’t believe that, I would never have known you, Yuan.”

     Yuan, feeling helplessly warm, foolishly nodded.

      “Good,” Martel said, and then pulled him into a tight hug, chin on his shoulder and arms around his neck. Yuan floundered for a moment, uncertain where to put his hands, what to do with them, but Martel held on, stayed pressed against him, body relentlessly soft, until he relaxed. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her thin waist, supporting her as best he could.

     He tilted his head slightly, so his cheek pressed against the side of Martel’s head.

      “This is nice,” she said.

      “I’m not entirely sure what invited it,” Yuan confessed, but quickly added. “But you’re right. It is.”

      “I’m so lucky to know you,” Martel whispered. “Yuan.”

     Yuan shook his head, about to argue, when Martel’s lips brushed his in a brief kiss. The argument flew from his throat, as well as any words that might have come after it. Martel beamed, gently pulling away.

      “We should be heading back now,” she said, not acknowledging anything that just happened. Yuan stared at her.

      “Unless you’d rather stay?”

     Yuan continued to stare. Martel laughed, taking his hand. “Let’s go, Yuan.”

     And easily, effortlessly, Yuan fell into step beside her.


End file.
